But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. She ignored his question. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living.
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